


Wherever The Road Goes

by floweryhanzo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Diners, Horses, M/M, Pining, Post-Dragons (Overwatch), Road Trips, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 15:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12257466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweryhanzo/pseuds/floweryhanzo
Summary: Two strangers meet in a diner. Neither of them has a destination in mind.





	Wherever The Road Goes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nappi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nappi/gifts).



> Once upon a time, I commissioned my friend Nappi to create some art for my first OW fic, Gibraltar. Part of my payment was to fill a prompt for her, and what she wanted was McCree seeing some horses for the first time.
> 
> Bet nobody saw _this_ coming when that prompt was given.

* * *

 

 

They meet by coincidence, the kind that can only be set up by divine intervention. Two wanderers with no destination, sitting in the same diner along a stretch of highway under the heat of the noon sun, one with his head bowed over a cup of overboiled coffee, the other digging through his pockets for change.

”I’ll get it for you,” the foreigner says, and the man with no change turns a surprised look at him.

”Do you owe me for something?” he asks, a careful grin on his face.

The foreigner looks at him for a while, his dark eyes squinted, and shakes his head. Then he turns towards the waitress and nods.  
”One of these for him,” he says, gesturing towards his coffee before turning back to give the penniless another look, ”but I warn you - it is not good.”

”I hear ya,” the other man says, taking seat beside the foreigner.  
He runs his eyes over him and finds himself intrigued.  
”You’re Japanese, right?”

The foreigner nods, his gaze back over the steaming poison in his cup. He’s pierced and tattooed, yet wears the gear of a mercenary and carries a sturdy bow that the penniless man doubts was built for hunting.

”Nice look,” he notes, attempting a genuine compliment but coming a little short on the presentation.

”I don’t dress to impress.”

”But you do impress, regardless. Thanks for the coffee, stranger.”

The foreigner waves his hand before resting it around his cup and pulling it to his lips. The other man receives his own eventually and takes a sip out of it - it tastes the same as any other coffee along this highway, bitter and overdone. He grimaces before laying it down, but neither of them speaks again for a long time. Perhaps the conversation was meant to be over then, but in the lingering silence, the penniless man feels the distinct need to carry on with it. He turns, eventually, and touches the other man on his arm with the fingers of his prosthetic hand.

”Can I have your name at least?” he asks, withdrawing once more.

The foreigner sighs.  
”Hanzo,” he says then.  
His fingers carry a strand of black hair back behind his ear, and the look in his eyes is downcast, troubled. There’s a depth behind the rich, amber-like brown of his gaze that intrigues the other man, and it’s that depth more than his name that raises the other's suspicion.

”Don’t think that’s a common name even where you come from,” he says.

”My parents were not the modest sort. I suppose my name was meant to remind me of the expectations they had for me. Of course, you may see the irony in such a thing now,” Hanzo says, his voice as dark as the look in his eyes, and gestures vaguely around the dive they’re sitting in.

”You don’t seem all too happy about it.”

”No.”

”Well, I think it’s a good name. Mine’s McCree - just call me Jesse - although I don’t think you much care for it.”

Finally, Hanzo turns his gaze towards him again. He gives him a more throughout look now before a small smile crosses his lips and he turns back to sip his coffee.  
”I did not ask for it,” he says shortly, but the tone of his voice is almost playful - a challenge - and Jesse latches onto that in favour of listening to the message spoken.

He really wants to talk to this guy. But there’s just one damn thing...

”I’m just wonderin’,” he keeps on, his voice careful again, ”You happen to have a brother, by any chance?”

The sudden stillness in the other man’s stance gives him the answer before a sound crosses Hanzo’s lips. Jesse nods to himself, suffocating a sigh. Well, that sure makes things more complicated.

Just that - Genji never showed him a picture. Never told him... never warned him, damn it.

”Alright, alright, gotcha. Sensitive subject,” he carries on with some haste to drown his own surprise, ”Kinda thought so, just based on your name, but it seems odd that two strangers meet up in a place like this, and -”

”You know him?”

”I sure do.”

”Then you should not be speaking to me.”

”Oh, yeah.”  
Jesse sips his coffee. The man’s right, in many ways.  
”You want me to stop, then?”

”I thought you were the one who -”

”No, not at all. I’m just curious, ’s all.”

”Curious about what?”

”You,” Jesse tells him, ”Genji never spoke about you that much, but there was a lot there underneath the surface. So, it’s just funny that we should bump into each other. I’m sorry, I guess this is real insensitive and all, but - ah, damn - let’s start over. Hi, I’m Jesse McCree, I worked with your brother once.”

Hanzo turns back towards him slowly: his eyes move calculatingly down from the awkward smile on his face to his extended hand. He stares at it for a very long time in complete stillness and silence, but just when Jesse’s about to give up, he lifts his hand and presses it into his grip. They shake hands, then part once more.

”Damn, I really thought you weren’t going to take it,” Jesse sighs, sipping his coffee to drive away the rush of anxiety coursing through his system, ”Thanks for giving me a second chance.”

”What do you want of me?” Hanzo asks him, and Jesse’s got to give it to him - he’s stubborn in his conviction to keep his eyes off of him.

”Maybe just to know where you’re headed, for starters?”

”Nowhere. I came here for a purpose, but after completing it, I have no destination in mind.”

”But you’re going somewhere.”

”I’m waiting for somewhere to take me to it.”

Jesse lifts his brows.  
”Well, not to come across too forwards or anything, but if you want to hitch a ride with me, I’m always happy to have company.”

There’s a long silence. Hanzo’s grip around the ear of his cup grows firmer for a while, but then he lifts his hand and draws a line across its side instead with his fingertip, painting the surface line of the remaining coffee inside on the ceramic on the outside. The tip of his tongue flicks over the top of his lower lip, then his teeth nip at it quickly before releasing, and Jesse has to drop his gaze back to his coffee to suppress the soft sound his throat was all too eager to let out at the sight.

Yeah, Genji really never warned him about this. He should have.

”I was waiting for a sign,” Hanzo finally says, pushing his coffee away from him, ”and it seems that this has been it. I will come with you, wherever you are headed. Make of that what you want.”

”Damn,” Jesse chuckles, ”That was easier than I thought.”

They share a glance as Jesse drinks up the rest of his coffee, one of them smiling and the other quite serious. Then Hanzo’s expression softens - submits - and he lets out a sigh.

”You intrigue me,” he says quietly, ”Your reasoning intrigues me. You know who I am and what I’ve done and yet you insist on my company. I do not know why. Perhaps spending more time around you will explain it to me.”

”You and me both,” Jesse says.  
He pulls up from his chair and nods his head towards the entrance.  
”Ready to go?”

Hanzo nods.  
”Quite so.”

 

* * *

 

Two nights pass, the road through the arid southern landscape doesn’t. They wait more than they travel, at gas stops, at malls, in small towns that inevitably all seem to be named after a dead man. In the glow of the setting sun with no car in sight, Hanzo pulls up his bag and walks across the dusty road without a word. Jesse watches him go until he’s so far that it seems clear that he’s not stopping anytime soon, as if intent on walking across the desert to his death or the nearest town, content on whichever would come first. At that point he decides it’s time to run after him, if only to convince him that the walk isn’t going to work out.

He catches up by the time Hanzo’s found a cliff; the drop isn’t too long, but as he stands there against the backdrop of the immense vastness of copper landscape and the golden light, he looks like a man who has reached the very edge of the world and now stares past its confines into something that Jesse can’t see. Without knowing what to say, Jesse drops his own bag beside him; it seems like they’re no longer hitchhiking, at least not for the time being, any passing car be damned.

”What are you seein’ out there?”

”Looking. Not seeing much.”

”Alright, well - what are you looking for?”

Hanzo looks at him, and as has become quite commonplace, the very sight of his eyes catching Jesse’s seems to draw the air from the other man’s lungs. He’s got his hair tied messily up in a bun over the back of his head, the short-cropped sides leaving his pierced ears and his jawline visible. Over the past hours, the stubble over his face has started poking through, and the loose white shirt he wears today over a pair of military pants runs too low down over his tattooed shoulder but he doesn’t seem to care enough to pull it back up. He’s more beautiful than anyone Jesse’s ever laid eyes upon, that much he’s sure of, but just the same he’s never sensed such a profound aura of unhappiness about anyone, the same degree of pain caught up in the very fabric of someone’s being, like despite everything, despite the miles they’ve travelled, there’s no way that Hanzo has put a single foot of distance between himself and whatever demons hang so heavy over his shoulders.

There’s a fix for that, Jesse finds himself thinking, and when his consciousness catches onto the thought, he wants to punch himself for it. It seems disrespectful - selfish - to think about it here, but hell, it seems that he’s unable to stop.

It takes him a moment to realise that Hanzo never graced him with an answer, but in the end, the two of them are both staring into the void together.

”Is there anything you want to do before you die, Jesse?” Hanzo finally asks, his voice distant but mildly curious.

_Kiss you_ , Jesse wants to say, but for the first time in his life, he’s too nervous to go for the kill.

”What, you thinkin’ of putting an arrow in me while I sleep?” he asks instead.

”No.”

”Sweet and short as always, I see. Well, there is something. It seems silly, and it’s probably not what you were thinking when you asked.”

”Share it with me.”

”Well, see, I ain’t ever seen a horse in my life. I’d love to, before I die.”

A funny sound escapes Hanzo; his eyes look wide with surprise when he looks at Jesse, who shrugs with a small laugh.

”I told you it was silly,” he says before Hanzo can react.

”You have - never?”

”No, never. There used to be plenty where I come from, but the climate got too dry, see, the grass ain’t growing like it used to, so all the pastures went to the livestock because the meat industry could afford it. Nowadays people don’t really keep big herbivores around for fun here. I guess - it just never happened.”

Slowly, Hanzo nods.  
”I see,” he says, and the conversation seems to end there.

Then, after Jesse’s already settled to stare at the horizon for no good reason, he continues.

”So you’ve never been on horseback in your life?” Hanzo asks, although the question has to be rhetorical.

”Nope. Would love to, but - I guess life just hasn’t taken me there yet. What about you?”

”Are you asking about horses or what I want to do before I die?”  
Hanzo’s tone is teasing, and Jesse finds a shiver running up his spine for it.

”Well, both, since you finally seem to feel like talkin’.”

”I’ve seen enough horses for one life. I know how to ride, and I can kill from horseback. If I could, I would give half of my experience to you, as I don’t think I will ever have any proper use for it. As for what I want to do before I die - I want to feel something again. Anything.”

”Seems fair, but I’m sure you do feel things. You don’t seem the type who don’t.”

A silence falls over them again. Hanzo’s gaze turns back towards the road, and in a moment, his fingers brush over Jesse’s sleeve.

”Someone’s coming.”

”You wanna get back to the road, then?” Jesse asks, stubbornly wishing away the heat gathering to the point that Hanzo barely touched.

”Do _you_ want to stay here overnight, sleep on the ground?” Hanzo asks him, his bag over his shoulder again and a frustrated look in his eyes when he throws a glance towards Jesse.

He’s already walking, and Jesse grabs his own bag off the ground and catches up with a breathless laugh.

”You sure are an enigma,” he sighs.

 

* * *

 

They hitch a ride in a huge truck. Jesse spends a couple hours chatting up the omnic behind the control panel, but the day’s been long and he can’t help dozing off every now and then, often only to wake up when his head connects with the passenger side window, knocking his hat off his head. Every time he reaches to put it back on and readjusts on his seat, he sees the light from Hanzo’s handheld shining from where he sits, collapsed against the wall in the small storage space behind the seats. With that shimmer never ceasing even when he closes his eyes, Jesse finally falls asleep.

He wakes up again at sunrise, but not on his own accord. The truck stops before a diner with the words _Roast & Toast _shining above it in neon colours, and the omnic tells them it’s as far as they’ll go, leaving them standing there in the chill of the early morning. To Jesse’s surprise, Hanzo doesn’t seem to question the fact that the ride that was supposed to take them all the way to the city has instead dumped them smack in the middle of nowhere, and it’s his casual decision to enter the diner for coffees instead that makes Jesse realise the stop wasn’t unplanned at all.

”So, you ever gonna tell me what we’re here for? Thought we were headed for the city,” he asks as the waitress puts a tall mug of coffee in his hands.

Hanzo gives him nothing, aside a passionless growl. Sighing, Jesse leans back in the seat and turns his eyes towards the sunrise, squinting at the scenery that has admittedly turned at least a little bit lusher than before. Sure enough, they’re still in the desert, but at least there’s things growing here - a bush here, a patch of grass there. Opposite of him, Hanzo’s looking at his handheld again, the screen projector showing a map with roads crisscrossing over a 3D landscape. The collar of his shirt has now fallen well past his shoulder on one side, and while Jesse waits for an answer beyond the dismissive grunt, he finds his eyes catching onto the shape of the other man’s tattooed collarbone and the smooth shadow that the morning sun paints above it. Unthinking, perhaps still half-asleep, he finds himself reaching out, and Hanzo lifts his gaze ever so silently from the map, his finger stuck inside the projected display, to stare at him as he drags down the shirt’s collar over his arm, then picks it up and pulls it back over his shoulder only to drag up the sleeve next.

”Never seen your tattoo,” Jesse mutters as his eyes run the visible length of the dragon inked into Hanzo’s skin, ”Hope you don’t mind me lookin’.”

Hanzo’s eyes turn back to the map and he spins it around. Still, he sticks out his elbow to keep his sleeve from falling back over the image. In a moment, after turning the map where he seems to want it, he places his hand on the table between them and stretches his arm out, glancing at Jesse as he does so.

”What’s the story?” Jesse asks, leaning back into his seat with his curiosity mostly sated.

He watches Hanzo look down at his own arm, perhaps wondering how much to tell him.

”I had my ceremony when I became the age of majority,” he finally speaks, placing his handheld on the table - the map’s still on it, but for the time being, his focus has shifted elsewhere. ”Exchanging sake was one part of it, the tattoo was another.”

”Your ceremony?”

”My formal admission into the clan. Of course, I was born into it, but even as such...”

”I see.”

”Have you seen enough, or do I have to keep displaying myself like a zoo animal for your pleasure much longer?”

A choked breath escapes Jesse. He shakes his head, finding himself blushing for the first time in years.  
”That’s - not what I wanted, I apologize if it came across that way.”

Hanzo sighs, his arm relaxing as he picks up the map again.  
”Americans,” Jesse hears him mutter into his coffee, but there’s a crooked smile on his face when he lowers the cup again, and the way he looks at Jesse is distinctively more curious than offended.

”Will you follow if I take the lead from here?” he asks.

Jesse huffs.  
”Guess I’ve nowhere better to go than wherever the hell you’re taking me. Sure - why not.”

 

* * *

 

For an hour, Jesse McCree walks blind behind a man he barely knows along an unpaved stretch of a road that seems to lead nowhere at all, if not deeper into the wilderness. A few times he itches to ask if Hanzo really knows how to read a map but one offense seems enough for the day, so he decides he’s willing to take the risk; at worst, they’ll just die of thirst in the desert, so it’s really not much to gamble over. Then, finally, the shape of a ranch appears in the horizon.

”So... where _are_ you taking me, exactly?” Jesse asks.

Silently, Hanzo passes him the handheld he’s been looking at every now and then to measure the distance between them and the destination, only visible to Jesse as a red dot in the midst of a map that from the side view made no sense whatsoever. He takes it with his brows raised, but when he realises what he’s seeing, his footsteps slow down and he stops in the middle of the road.

”Are you coming, or have you decided that this is not what you want from your life after all?” Hanzo asks, still walking forwards as Jesse stares at the device in his palm.

”Why... would you - why me?” he asks, his eyes barely lifting from the screen, but it still takes Hanzo a moment to give in and stop.

They stand within a good duel’s distance from one another and the sun burns hot against Jesse’s shoulders, but there’s no way he can move forwards before he’s had his questions answered.

”When we met,” Hanzo says, seemingly accepting that he’s not moving before he’s given his answers, ”You asked me where I was going, and I told you that I was waiting for a destination. This is as good as any. As for why you - why me, why anyone? It was you who asked me to come with you, and I did not question why. I ask you to come with me now, so that I can finish this journey.”

Jesse wants to argue, wants to give the other man a reason why this can’t be happening, but he’s standing there and the sky is clear and the dry wind pools about his ankles and finally, he moves forwards again. He walks to Hanzo, who turns around when he reaches him, takes back his handheld and drops it in his bag. Ahead of them, the gates of the ranch seem to grow as they approach, the sign nailed to the fence now clearly visible.

_Bullet Ridge Sanctuary  
_ _Opening hours: 10:00am - 6:45pm_

_No dogs on the premises  
_ _Now hiring (human and omnic)_

Jesse glances at the sun; the time should just be around ten in the morning. He stops by the gates with Hanzo, whose fingertips press smoothly against the sensor nailed into the wood. It beeps faintly, and the gate unlocks before them.

”Are you ready?” Hanzo asks him, and his tone is tinted with the warm smirk on his features.

”I still don’t know why you’re doing this, but - I guess there’s no turning back now.”

They step inside the fences and look around. The ranch looks old-fashioned, the house in the middle a colonial-looking two-story monster bleached by the heat of its environment. Across the same dusty path that runs through the landscape outside the fences stand the stables, a long, tall building that has a very distinctive smell to it. It catches Jesse’s attention for a while until suddenly, an omnic appears through its doors. The robot is dressed appropriately for his surroundings, clad in a loose flannel and a pair of overalls with dirty knees and ankles. He closes the stable doors behind him and starts walking towards them, waving a greeting as they turn to face him.

”Visiting?” he asks once within a conversational distance.

Jesse glances at Hanzo as if unable to answer the question for himself; the man nods shortly, tilting his head back towards Jesse.

”He wanted to meet the mustangs.”

”Then he’s at the right place. May I have your names for our visitor’s list?” the omnic asks.

”Shimada, Hanzo.”

”Jesse McCree,” Jesse speaks, finding his voice tense.

”Your visit has been recorded. Welcome. You can call me Boots; I will be your guide, and assist you with the horses. Follow me and I will show you were you can leave your bags, please.”

Jesse pushes himself onwards and after the omnic. Beside him, Hanzo tucks his hands inside his pockets and seems quite at ease, which only serves to highlight how nervous Jesse suddenly finds himself feeling.

”What does that mean - assist us with the horses?”

”I suppose you will find out eventually,” Hanzo tells him.

They enter the stables and leave their bags there. Then, they head down the road.

 

* * *

 

The wind picks up. It rushes through the dry hay, long and wild in places, nubbly and flattened in others. Behind the next gate, the landscape looks very different from the area surrounding it - greener, more alive than the miles and miles of dust and stone that they’ve travelled for days. It’s one of the high-grade pastures sold at a steep price, Jesse knows that much when they enter it, but he doesn’t care about the grass or the money tied up to the land. The only thing he cares about, really, is the pack of horses ahead of him, lazily grazing amongst the swaying greenery or, in the case of the fillies and colts, playfully sprinting about and around each other without a care in the world. They’re huge, with straight long manes and thick tails, round stomachs and silky, shiny coats, each a different colour from the other, some solid black or brown or grey or white, some a funny mixture of all these colours in patterns that look like splattered paint. Some of them are taller, some shorter, some fatter than the others, but they all have the same long nose, a soft muzzle and round, dark eyes that turn one pair at a time to acknowledge their presence before drifting to the more pressing matters at hand.

Jesse’s hand fists at his side and his heart races; he doesn’t realise he’s taken a step out of his group before he stands alone, half-way between the horses and the others present behind him. He glances back, his intention to lock eyes (or visors) with the omnic, but instead, his eyes catch Hanzo removing the band from his hair; the black strands fall down along the sides of his head before he combs them lazily from one side to the other with his fingers, his eyes finally catching Jesse’s. He gives him a small smile before looking at the horses and nodding towards them, his eyes returning to Jesse’s with intent.

”Can I?” Jesse asks, finally tearing his eyes away from the man he’s travelling with, and the omnic beside Hanzo nods at him.

”Be mindful to approach from the front and don’t make any sudden movements that might scare them,” Boots tells him in an instructional tone.

”They’re - friendly, right? I mean, mustangs are wild, ain’t they?”

”This pack is partially domesticated. They are quite used to human presence. You may go as close as you wish. Would you like me to come with you and introduce you to them?”

”Uh - yeah,” Jesse says, his eyes flickering towards Hanzo again.

The omnic moves forwards, and Hanzo follows him. The smile on him hasn’t faded, but he looks down as he walks towards Jesse, his hands still tucked inside his pockets. The wind catches onto his shirt and presses it against his body from the side, pulling it up and over the curve of his stomach for a fleeting moment, and - God, Jesse thinks and swallows, barely able to breathe. He closes his eyes and tells himself to focus; he’s not here to stare at his company.

When Boots reaches him, they walk the remaining distance together.

The omnic walks Jesse around the pack, guiding his hands onto the soft flanks of the horses, over their backs and into their manes. He watches as Jesse runs his fingertips along a mare’s silky, warm ears, then touches the floppy nostrils of a stallion, and he walks him to a shy little filly resting beside her curious mother so that he can crouch beside her and pet her curly coat until she relaxes under his touch and closes her eyes, her long lashes tangling together and a deep sigh escaping her wide nose. They all have names, and Jesse repeats them to the horses as he touches them, his voice quiet and fond, and as he sits there on his knees still petting the little filly, Hanzo joins him, sitting cross-legged amongst the long grass with a quiet breath. It’s the closest Jesse’s ever been to him; their legs touch on one side, and every now and then, so do their fingers along the baby animal’s side. He dares to look at the man, but it’s as if Hanzo isn’t even seeing him - he has an unreadable expression on his features and a gentle, careful concentration in the way he touches the horse, and eventually, Jesse gives up and gives her the same focus as Hanzo does.

They stay there for what feels like an eternity, until finally, Boots crouches beside them, runs his metallic hand over the filly’s little ears and looks at Jesse.

”Would you like to try riding, Mr. McCree?”

”Oh -”

”He would,” Hanzo says before Jesse can decline, and beside him, the man swallows his hesitation and nods instead.

”I suppose I would,” he says instead.

 

* * *

 

From on top of a horse, the world seems quite different. It isn’t like riding a bike or hanging onto a bullet train. It isn’t like sitting in a car or taking a ride on the bull at a bar. No - there’s an uncertainty about it mixing seamlessly with the sense of unity with the animal that stands so solid and real underneath him, and when Jesse holds the reins, he can’t decide whether he quite likes it or if it just terrifies him. He barely dares to lift his gaze from the horse’s back, but when he does, he looks at Hanzo sitting on the fence with a bottle of water in his grip, and the man looks back at him, his expression blank until a faint smile crosses his lips and he lifts the bottle as if in a toast, then brings it to his lips.

Boots stands back and nods at him.

”Give her a little boost with your heels. Press them in her flanks, just encourage her, she should get going without issue.”

Jesse swallows, then does as instructed. The first touch does nothing, if not turn the ears of the horse towards him. He breathes out a shaky breath, then gives another touch, this one a little sharper, and with a nudge, they’re moving.

It’s a bumpy ride. She’s got four legs and they’re all walking, walking, and he’s gripping to her with his thighs, trying to stay on the saddle, even though she’s barely doing anything at all that should challenge his balance. He notices a wide smile on his own lips, however, one that refuses to go even as he struggles to guide her around a corner with Boots walking right next to him, giving him instructions. If he expected to be galloping across the plains today, well, that ain’t gonna happen, but there’s a promise of freedom hidden in the experience of bouncing on top of the mare that he can sense even now when she takes him around the fenced ring.

The next round gets easier. By the fourth, he thinks he’s got the basics of staying on her back, and encouraged by the thought, he gives her another touch with his heels, driving her to a faster pace. She’s still walking, but now she’s pulled her head up and she looks like she’s going somewhere, and he’s enjoying it, his own eyes every now and then gazing at the scenery from past her head and her mane that dances around in the wind. Her ears never turn away from him, eager to hear his quietly spoken words aimed at her, perhaps expecting him to tell her something of meaning, but instead he’s just telling her how much he loves her just for being a horse, and he hopes that Boots either isn’t listening or at least doesn’t care about the thirty-something man whispering sweet nothings to an equine. He doesn’t seem to mind it, either way; instead, he stops at one end of the fenced ring and presses his palm against the mare’s chest, stopping her, too.

”If you feel comfortable, now might be a good time to try trotting. Don’t be afraid to pull at her reins to stop her if it’s too much too soon, however,” Boots says, and Jesse draws such a long inhale that it makes his head spin a little.

”You think I can do it?” he asks, and Boots gazes up at him, the stark sunlight dancing upon the metal of his forehead.

”Absolutely. You have an excellent balance, Mr. McCree.”

”Oh - thanks. Well, I s’pose - there’s no harm in giving it a go.”

”Pick up the reins first, shorten them until you can feel her in your hands - that’s quite good, a little more perhaps; there we go. Then get her into a walk, and keep squeezing repeatedly until she picks up her pace; aim for the next long side. Are you ready?"

”I guess I ain’t gonna get more ready by waiting around,” Jesse says, his voice a little strained.

”Try to relax on the way in, if you can,” Boots tells him, and as he nods, he’s already prompting her into a walk.

They move along the side of the ring, and by the shorter end, Jesse sits up straight with his heart pouding. He feels ridiculous trying to figure out how to get her to trot, but by the middle point of the next long side, she suddenly does it for him. The tug makes him fall back, but he catches himself quickly and centers his balance again, if only to find out that his weight is oddly shifting to the left and sliding him off the saddle. He grips the reins, not quite knowing how to hold them at this speed, and he bounces past Boots and then past Hanzo, who tilts his head as he passes, watching with one brow raised.

”Remember that you can stop her if you need to,” Boots says from somewhere far away as the horse’s hooves thunder against the hardened ground.

Jesse’s boot presses into the stirrup on the side his weight keeps slipping towards, and he shifts himself upwards by it, managing to get himself back in the middle. His lips stay parted and his breath hitches as he fastens his grip of the reins, but finally, he feels like he has some degree of control over which way they are headed. He lifts his head, aims his gaze between the horse’s ears and lets her go, his weight relaxing back into the saddle and then up from it in rhythm with her steps, and there, for a good long moment, he feels confident again. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the mare slows back down into a walk and he leans back in the saddle, out of breath and feeling like a battered sack of potatoes.

”Good job, Mr. McCree. That looked very promising,” Boots tells him when he passes him by again.

”Can I try that again?”

”Certainly.”

Hanzo brings his bottle of water back to his lips. A droplet runs down his chin, and that’s the last thing that Jesse sees before speeding up again.

Yes - this is exactly what freedom should feel like, he thinks.

 

* * *

 

After hiking the long way back, they rent the spare room above Roast & Toast. Jesse collapses on the king-sized bed, kicks his boots off on the floor and lets out a long, pleased sigh as his sore and weary muscles relax. The room may not be the most luxurious he’s ever spent a night in, but it’s damn well an improvement over the heat of the dying day outside. So what if it’s only got a single bed and if the fate’s against him, he’ll get to spend the night on the floor - at least it’s indoors, and for once, he’s not in a damn car seat.

He brings out the last coin in his pocket and stares at it with half a smile as Hanzo stops before him and gives him an odd look; he’s got a towel hanging over his shoulder, and Jesse’s eyes stray from the coin towards him.

”Takin’ the shower first?” he asks, and Hanzo, one brow slightly raised, nods.  
Closing his eyes, Jesse nods too.  
”Make sure there’s water left for me when you’re done,” he says.

In a few moments, the water’s running. The scent of soap sneaks past the gap underneath the door and fills up the room, but Jesse barely notices it for a long time. The white noise of water over the ceramic floors keeps his brain empty until he starts fearing he’ll fall right asleep unless he gets up, and stiffly, he does exactly that. His eyes stare unfocusedly around the room for some time before he finally stands up on his weak-feeling legs and starts stripping off layers of his clothes, worn and ready for a laundromat, to prepare for the shower. He’s stripped down to a pair of pants by the time Hanzo walks out of the shower - their eyes meet and Jesse tilts his head and smiles as he passes by the other man. He breathes him in, the undertone of sweetness that lingers about him stronger now than usual, a scent like flowers on his skin, and Hanzo, wearing a new shirt over a pair of loose and soft-looking grey pants fastened just underneath his knees, passes him and sits on the bed in the depression he left behind.

”There was never any warm water in there,” he says in an indifferent voice as Jesse closes the door between them.

”I don’t believe you,” Jesse replies calmly, preparing for the worst.

 

* * *

 

He smokes a cigarette outside the diner, watching the moon rise above the empty landscape. The headlights of a few passing cars split the darkness every now and then but they’ve already decided to stay for the night so Jesse cares little for them, finding them mostly an inconvenience as he tries to enjoy the night’s scenery. Behind him, an old man smokes a pipe, and every now and then they exchange some meaningless remark about the weather or the taste of tobacco, but in the end, he turns and walks back through the diner and up the stairs leading to the rented rooms. The key turns in the lock with some difficulty and the hinges of the door let out a quiet creak as he enters - the room is dark if not for the window behind the open curtains casting light over the bed, and the moon paints the interior a deep shade of blue that takes Jesse’s eyes a moment to adjust to after the stark lights of the diner downstairs.

He closes the door behind him but doesn’t take a step past it into the room. On the bed, Hanzo turns to look towards him, legs crossed and back leaning against the bed’s hand-crafted wooden headboard.

”The light doesn’t work,” he says.

”Ah. I was wonderin’ why you were sitting here in the dark,” Jesse chuckles.  
He takes off his shoes again, bare feet meeting the floorboards soundlessly as he steps forwards.  
”So, you ready to duel me over which of us gets the damn bed and which one sleeps on the floor?”

”There’s no need for either of us to sleep on the floor if one dies first.”

”The corpse will likely end up there regardless, unless the winner feels like holdin’ a funeral before turning in tonight.”

Hanzo sighs. His hair’s still loose and brushed over his head to one side only, and the shadow of it hanging over his face hides his expression from view. Jesse watches him for a moment, perhaps waiting for him to say something, before finally moving closer.

”I was thinking we’d toss a coin. Heads and tails,” he says.  
The coin from before has moved now into the pocket of his dark pajama pants, and his fingertips find it with ease. He sits on the edge of the bed, pulls up his legs and hops closer to the other man before pulling it out, and he lets it roll over his palm before offering it towards Hanzo.

The other man takes it from him and turns it around in his fingers quietly for a moment. Jesse’s eyes move up to the dragon guarding his wrist; it seems to come alive in the moonlight as the muscles underneath the skin it was etched into move beneath it. Its body vanishes under Hanzo’s white shirt, but the tail’s curve reappears briefly through the collar, and above it, the man’s exposed neck reflects a faint light against the darkness of the room. His lips are parted, if only ever so slightly, and his eyes look down at the coin even as Jesse’s turn for them, and in the silence that lingers between them, Jesse has the perfect chance to simply watch him as he is, the ache that has been stuck between his ribs this whole time finally breaking free and throbbing inside him with a force that he doesn’t remember feeling before. A soundless breath escapes him and as a rush of adrenaline moves into his veins, Jesse brings his hand over his beard and strokes through it, unsure what to do next.

There isn’t, there hasn’t been, the slightest sign of the feeling being mutual, and certainly, expecting it to be would be naive. He’s nothing to Hanzo, just someone to reach one destination, and then part, with forever. Just a man he once bought a coffee for when Jesse had nothing to pay for it with, although, of course, had there been the choice for non-cash payment, he could have afforded half the establishment himself. By now, Hanzo knows as much.

But damn if he doesn’t hope for a different outcome. Truly, the reasons as to why his heart hurts at the sight of this man evade him. After all, it was Hanzo’s blade that caused the suffering of one of the best friends Jesse has ever had, and last time they’d seen one another, Genji had still been filled with the pain and the anger that followed it. Yet, it’s hard to separate Genji from his brother, hard to not see the similarities in them and as such, hard to not feel as if Jesse doesn’t have something in common with Hanzo, too. Hard to not feel for him, to become blind to the sadness so inseparable from the brown of his eyes that seeing the latter means staring into the former as inevitably as blindness follows looking directly into the sun. Even harder, really, to ignore the ease of the shared silences between them - a rarity, really, for Jesse who’s more used to evading the awkward tension that follows a dead conversation than the comfort of falling into thought together with someone he barely knows.

It takes a moment for Jesse to realise that Hanzo’s looking at him now, and that he’s closed his fist around the coin he gave him. He wants to say something, but his eyes get caught over the tip of the man’s nose and then, as a soft breath escapes between the other’s lips, drop to the curve of them, the small gap between them, and suddenly, like a knife through his ribs, the barely contained ache flashes into a sharp stabbing pain that pushes him forwards. His hand shakes as he lifts it, his weight leaned over to the mechanical one that sinks deep into the mattress, and he brings his fingers against Hanzo’s chest, his eyes darting for the briefest moment up to the other’s as if asking for permission, but there’s nothing there in response, just the watchful look of a cornered animal waiting to assess the situation properly before making his move.

Stuck between the need to pull back and laugh it off and the urge to keep going, to keep _trying_ , Jesse finds himself lingering in the idleness between the two, his fingertips ever so lightly touching the thin fabric of Hanzo’s shirt but the rest of his palm ready to move away. Then, swallowing the fear that keeps him from doing it, he puts weight over his hand and lets it press over the other’s skin with only the shirt separating them. Once more, his eyes move up to Hanzo’s, but now the archer’s looking away, his eyes reflecting the dim light of the window, lips still parted and nostrils flaring as he breathes.

”Hey, you should tell me to back off now, if that’s what you want,” Jesse breathes out, his voice quiet and almost pleading, as if he needs Hanzo to tell him to stop here.  
”Just - I think - you've been good to me, and you’re really beautiful, ’s all. The way that makes me wanna get closer, but only if you’re alright with that.”

Underneath his palm, he can feel the other’s heart beating, the steady, quick pulse of it strong against his ribcage. A shudder runs through Jesse’s body and his eyes sting as he turns away, bringing his hand with him, and he finds it difficult to breathe and difficult to think, but no matter how much he wants to go on, he can’t, not like this. He can hear the soft sound of every breath that Hanzo lets out, the long, deep exhales and the shorter, shivering inhales, and the fine hair on his neck stand up and he wonders how much too far he went already by just touching him that way, but then, just as he’s starting to question whether he should be walking out, just picking his bag and going, he feels something press up against his hand. It’s Hanzo’s, dropping the coin back into his palm and closing his fist around it in turn. When he looks up to question it, the other man’s already pulling down - he settles on his back on the bed and finally looks Jesse in the eye, fingertips caught around the hem of his shirt that the motion dragged up over his belly, high enough to expose the dark trail of hair in the middle and the lines of his hips running down and underneath the collar of his pants.

”Oh, damn.”  
The words flow out into the darkness, and Jesse barely realises he let them out. The coin disappears back into the pocket he dragged it out from, but after it’s gone, he doesn’t know what to do with his hand anymore.  
”You sure about this?”

”You talk too much,” Hanzo says, his voice quiet and his eyes sharp, ”You say many things but go through with very few of them.”

”I know I shouldn’t be speakin’ right now and that I should be doin’ a whole hell of a lot instead, but I recognise fear where I see it, and the last thing I want is to do this without your real consent.”

”Do what?” Hanzo asks him, barely blinking when accused of being afraid; Jesse’s thankful for it.  
He knows it’s a sore subject for him, too.

”You still just waitin’ for the road to take you somewhere then, huh,” he chuckles, a shiver running over him once more.  
His hand shakes more than just a little when he moves it over Hanzo’s hair, his fingers slipping between the strands and combing them over the blanket underneath him. The contrast of white sheets against the obsidian of the man’s hair catches his eye, makes his mind quiet down.  
”Will you promise me you’ll let me know when we get to your stop at least?”

Slowly, Hanzo nods. He turns his eyes for the ceiling and lets go of his shirt, his hand pressing against the white sheets and the tattooed one lifting, sluggisly, lazily, to seek out the hem of Jesse’s shirt. Jesse can’t help the choked breath that escapes him when Hanzo pulls him down by his clothes until his chest presses against the man’s warm body - he feels solid and strong underneath him, his scent both sweet and earthy now, like a warm rock covered with a cascade of petals, and his eyes bypass Jesse’s and settle over his lips instead when he brings the man down still, now by the collar of his shirt rather than the side of it.

He doesn’t taste sweet, not like any girl that Jesse ever had. There’s a freshness over his lips, the taste of saliva only briefly exposed to air as his lips part, and the only thing that Jesse can think of is how he’s tarnishing that taste with the ash and tar of his own mouth. He feels Hanzo’s lips move over his like he’s looking for something, and the hair above and around the other’s mouth prickles and tangles up with the other’s on each side. Then, quite unexpectedly just when Jesse’s almost used to the strange caress of lips over lips, Hanzo’s teeth nip at his lower lip and his hand charges up his hair, long fingers bending around a fistful of it to hold as he pulls him down. His body’s a wave of motion, a trembling tension, as he holds Jesse close and kisses him, his mouth moving from lip to lip to both corners, tasting, searching, and every now and then his teeth threaten the thin, vulnerable skin with a small grip but never once bite to cause pain.

Uncertain, Jesse seeks a hold of the bed’s edge with his prosthetic hand, the metallic fingers gripping down hard as he moves a little further over Hanzo - without words, he’s still not sure how far he can go, or if he’s invited in at all. He’s not used to a silent lover, much less one whose mind he can’t read, but it’s impossible to read Hanzo, and everything he does seems to edge the suddenly fine line between fun and violence like those two had anything in common with one another.

Within moments, Hanzo breaks the kiss; he moves his chin up, bends his head, and looks out the window again. Jesse barely acknowledges it - it’s impossible not to read the gesture as an invitation, the sudden length of exposed skin on Hanzo’s stretched neck offered so damn demandingly towards Jesse, and he presses his lips onto it, tasting it, dragging his lips along it to the place where casually and quite infrequently styled coarse hair marks the archer’s jawline. He follows that line all the way up to his ear where the texture of his hair varies from thick and stiff to soft and smooth, and he runs the tip of his tongue along the curve of the man’s ear until he pulls the tip of it in his mouth. A soft growl leaves his throat when he hears the breath that escapes Hanzo in turn, and feels the way his hips stir from the mattress; for a second, the only sound following that breath is the silent wet sound of his mouth parting from skin.

”Seems like you like that, hm?” he mumbles, wiping the cooling saliva from the other’s skin with his fingertip.  
He tries to shake off the hand still tangled up in his hair, but it won’t shift; instead, Hanzo gives him a look that, to Jesse, seems to hold the finest hint of amusement in it.

”What do you like?” Hanzo asks him quietly.

_You_ , Jesse wants to answer, but he’s got the feeling that Hanzo’s not one for sweet-talking, even - or especially - when pinned to the bed.

”I do kinda like the way you’re pretending to be all sweet and pliant down there but you’re really quite tearing out my scalp right now,” he says instead, tossing his head again.

For a moment, Hanzo’s grip only intensified - then, it falls apart, leaving his fingers running down the curve of Jesse’s head and over his neck.

”Do you expect me to be that? Sweet and pliant?”

”To be honest with you - I don’t know what I’m expectin’. I don’t know you, now do I. Don’t know much about you at all.”

”Would you like to?”

”Hell yeah, I would. You don’t seem to like lettin’ people close, though.”

Their eyes meet; Hanzo watches him quietly for a while, squinting, before a small smile tugs at his lips. He runs his finger over his mouth and his chin, twisting it through his beard, and he sighs softly when he turns his gaze for the ceiling once more.

”Get on your back,” he says, and Jesse, although his heart has somersaulted in his chest leaving him breathless and dizzy, drops first on his side and then on his back.

He feels cold with pins and needles prickling eagerly at his limbs when Hanzo climbs up from the bed; he watches his silhouette, his illuminated outline, against the window as the man pulls off his shirt. There’s not one damn part in him that isn’t sculpted to perfection - his shapes are round but defined, the muscles of his arms and torso visible but only out of real use, smooth and subtly defining the shape of his body. Here and there Jesse can spot a scar, a flash of white against the moonlight when the man turns around, but his eyes catch more to the way Hanzo pulls his hair back and aims his gaze towards Jesse before returning his knee against the bed and climbing back on it. He moves quickly but deliberately, as if his every movement was calculated, and the way he climbs on top of Jesse makes him look like a large cat - a tiger - climbing an obstacle. Jesse runs his hand over Hanzo's spine as he leans down and bites him on the neck, then licks a circle around the throbbing mark; it doesn’t seem quite hard enough to bruise, but it’s hard enough to leave the skin red and swollen.

Hanzo moves his hips against Jesse’s in such a way that if that part of Jesse wasn’t already a focus of his attention, he likely wouldn’t have noticed the weight pressing over it. Then he fastens his thighs around Jesse on both sides as if to hold him in place, and once more, his fingers grab a firm hold of Jesse’s hair, pulling him back into a kiss - this time, like before, the grip doesn’t initially hurt, but it’s decisive and commanding, and Jesse feels like he’s wax under the other man’s touch. Pliant and sweet - yeah, it might apply to him better than it does to Hanzo. He can’t keep his eyes open or his breath in a steady rhythm when Hanzo marks his throat, the sides of his neck and his exposed shoulders. Every tug of his fingers dragging down the collar of his shirt makes Jesse shake and his whole body tingle with anticipation. He finds his body curving up, trying desperately to meet and push against the heat of Hanzo’s body, but Hanzo returns only a few of the touches he pleads for, and even those are brief as if to amp up his sensitivity to them. He never gets quite enough, not until he’s dizzy and gasping for air, and the spot that Hanzo’s mouth leaves behind this time feels like it’s raw with his kisses, as if the bumps of his collarbones exist only to experience the loss of his touch.

It takes him a moment to sense the hesitation with which Hanzo leans his weight back over Jesse’s hips. There’s a stillness, a silence between them, through which Jesse manages to force his eyes open again. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of Hanzo sitting over him, his bare upper body a shade between the dark of the night and the white of the room aside from his tattoo, the details of which drown in the lack of light.

”When we met, you claimed to have worked with my brother,” Hanzo says, his words quiet, barely audible.

”Uh - yeah, I sure did.”

”Was there more there?”

The question surprises Jesse, and a rush of heat climbs up to his cheekbones at the wording.  
”Well, it depends on what you mean - we were friends. Still think of us that way, though it’s been a while since I last saw him.”

Hanzo nods.  
”Then I need you to ask yourself whether you can still face him after tonight - whether you can bear looking him in the eye after touching me.”

Jesse’s heart skips a beat. His fingertips feel cold, and he tucks them underneath his side. Then, after a moment, he brings his hand back up and runs his fingers over Hanzo’s arm; from there, he trails them over his chest, all the way up to the black scar shaping the dragon’s tail.

”He ain’t gotta know that, you know? What I do with you, or what I do with anyone, ain’t really any of his business.”

”That is not what I’m asking you. Whether he can look you in the eye - whether you tell him or not - is not my concern. I am asking you if you, knowing what you know, can do the same for him.”

For a while, there’s a silence. At the end of it, the only thing that Jesse can do is sigh.  
”You ain’t tainted, you know that, right? Touching you won’t infect me with anything. I ain’t here because of or despite what you did or who you’re related to or any of that. I’m here because every moment since I saw you in that diner, I’ve wanted you, and after getting to know you a little better, that feeling hasn’t gone anywhere. After all, I’m a quite simple man, and I’d like to stay that way. I realise that you and your brother, you ain’t that kind, and I respect that, but for me, things just ain’t that complicated.”

He offers an apologetic smile towards Hanzo, who seems to consider his words for a long time before nodding, the tone of the gesture signaling satisfaction with his answer.

”Then you can do whatever you please with me,” Hanzo says, a hint of tease in his voice, ”as long as you know that your actions have consequences.”

Jesse pulls back up into a sitting position, his fingers catching a hold of Hanzo’s jaw. He kisses him on the mouth, the fingers of his prosthetic hand now taking a good hold of his hair in turn; he tugs Hanzo’s head back and nips at his jaw, then his neck, and sucks a mark over the side of his neck.

”Consequences, huh?” he mumbles against the heat gathering over the skin under his mouth, ”I’d like to try those out.”

 

* * *

 

It’s not making love, it’s fighting a war in slow-motion. They take turns on top, one pinning the other into the mattress, then eating him alive before the one pinned down finally grows tired of the tension building up and starts putting up a fight in turn. Sometimes, they do nothing but lie next to one another, fingers, palms, hands trailing the other’s body, resting over it, touching it, exploring it, holding it. Sometimes, Hanzo’s crouched over Jesse, his mouth hot and wet around the man's cock with Jesse’s hands trying to take some form of a hold of his hair but managing at most just to pull at odd strands of it from the tremors that run through him. Sometimes it’s Jesse instead, his fingers wrapped around Hanzo’s shaft, skin burning with the warm silk of him, his lips tasting the wet salt gathering at the tip and his beard catching in the black, trimmed curls whenever he lets his head move down, tongue pressed firm against the hard heat filling up his mouth. Sometimes they’re together - lips colliding, mouths searching about the other’s neck, ears, forehead, collarbones - with one or the other’s legs wrapped around the other's hips to hold him in place while the other’s fist holds them in contact even as their hips move and their bodies chase after the waves of pleasure from each thrust.

It’s been years since Jesse remembers himself spending so much time just feeling without wanting it to be over for the climax, but here, he could lose himself forever. His eyes never get enough of Hanzo’s, the sheer depth of them, the magnitude of the way he looks at him, or the swell of his lips kissed raw, the bruises over his shoulders, the redness of his ears and cheeks and nose. Touching him is a drug that he can’t get enough of; every stroke is new, every curve and angle of his body unexplored, each inch of him seeming just as sensitive as the previous one, as unconquered, as starved for attention, for affection. The sounds that he can drag out of Hanzo by doing, it seems, nothing at all only compare to those Hanzo gets out of him by doing things that Jesse’s never had done to him before, at least not quite the way that Hanzo does them.

In the end, he comes hard, hips pressed into Hanzo’s and completely, embarrassingly aware of how his seed spills over the other man’s body. He’s still shaking and holding on tight when Hanzo presses his face against his neck, bucks up against him, his cock sliding beside his softening one, and lets out a held-back, silent moan of pure comfort, the jump of his hips a brief prelude to the sensation of heat shooting over Jesse’s skin in return. Their bodies stay together for a long while, bones hard enough to bruise, until the warmth between them starts turning cold and Hanzo, his arm trembling visibly as he stretches it out, pulls the kicked-back blanket over them. He rolls on his back, knee pushing against the blanket to keep it off his stained body, and lets out a long exhale - he glances at Jesse and smiles, his expression tired but throughoutly satisfied. In return, Jesse drags his finger over his lips, parting them, drawing the smile on them, and he sighs, too, so tired that he could fall asleep right there but afraid to close his eyes, afraid to lose the vision in front of him.

”So that’s what it feels like - to sleep with a dragon. Would’ve been a damn idiot to turn that down for anything,” he says in a breathless voice, and Hanzo rolls his eyes, dragging behind his ear the hair stuck to his face.

Jesse watches him for a moment, his fingers still caressing the man’s skin; Hanzo doesn’t seem to mind it, and even though he should have had his fill by now, Jesse’s not done touching him yet.

”Mind if I ask you somethin’?” he says then, doing his best to hide the vulnerability in his tone.

Hanzo’s gaze drags over him but refuses to stick, and by now, Jesse’s used to it.

”Did that make you feel something? You said that you wanted to, and for me - that wasn’t just sex, you know. I ain’t like that with just anybody.”

”And I don’t sleep with just anybody,” Hanzo says, his words short and rough.

”Figured as much. Still, you didn’t answer my question.”

A stillness lingers over his partner for a moment, but then, Hanzo climbs up from the bed. His fingers drag down his naked form, his eyes turned down at his body, and he brushes through the come on his stomach, letting out a deep sigh before looking at Jesse again. He watches him for a long time, his weight shifted to imply a future direction towards the shower - a good decision, all in all, that Jesse intends to follow - but something keeps him there, caught between movement and staying.

”You have my respect,” Hanzo says then, his words slow and calculated, ”and my affection. Yes - your answer is yes. It did.”

With that, he turns and walks across the room, disappearing into the darkness of the bathroom. His heart racing a little faster than before, Jesse stretches out his stiff limbs and places his feet on the floor, following him in. When the shower’s on, he can’t help but bring his arms around the other man’s shape; he presses his body against his back as the cold water rushes over them, the only source of heat the contact between them. Hanzo brings his hand over Jesse's and they stand there, bearing the chill, for a long moment before finally separating and washing the night off their skins.

Neither of them sleeps on the floor.

 

* * *

 

Jesse squints at the sun. It’s high up by the time he wakes up, but it’s not the light that stirs him, it’s the sound of Hanzo moving about in the room. He turns, stiffly with seemingly every muscle in his body aching from exercise, and faces the man who seems caught up with something, his handheld in his grip.

”What’s the hurry?” Jesse asks him in a sleep-tinted, lazy voice.

”I have a flight to catch,” Hanzo tells him, his tone casual, as if this is not new information and he’s not stuck in the middle of a desert without a reliable ride to any given direction, much less that of an airport.

”Oh,” Jesse lets out.

Suddenly, his chest hurts, and there’s a solid grip crushing his throat. He coughs through it and climbs up in the bed, running his hand through his messy hair; he feels completely and utterly lost as he looks around the room, not knowing what else he could say.

”You ain’t staying for breakfast?” he finally asks.

”Already done.”

”Oh,” Jesse repeats.  
Now he’s just hurt.  
”Well, uh, when’re you leavin’?”

”In fifteen minutes - there’s a truck outside, headed for the city. The driver promised to pass by the airport for a small compensation.”

”I see.”

Hanzo hangs his bow around his body, the black shirt he’s wearing today puffing up around the string. Then he brings his bag over his other shoulder and shifts weight from one foot to the other, taking one last look around the room. Jesse watches him with a horrible, cold hollowness inside his body; he can still feel the touches from the night before, but the last thing he wanted was to wake up to this.

Their eyes meet.

”Well, I mean, have a good journey then, stranger,” Jesse tells him, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice, ”Sure was nice meetin’ ya.”

Hanzo squints at him. When he pulls his hand out of his pocket, it’s got a black band around it. In a smooth motion, he catches his hair up in a bun and ties it the same way it was when they first met. The memory hurts now.

”Is that all?” Hanzo asks him as he's still watching, and Jesse raises his brows, lifts his arms and shrugs.

”What the hell else you want from me?” he asks.

”I would just like to know whether you’ll be packing up soon, or if you’d rather stay here.”

Jesse blinks.

He blinks again.

”Oh,” he lets out then, slipping out of the bed and onto the wooden floor, ”Oh, hell. Yeah. Let me just - yeah.”

The choked, half-amused and half-disappointed snort that Hanzo lets out _gets_ to him, and he turns a blazing look towards the man.

”How in the hell was I supposed to know that you weren’t just gonna leave?” he snaps, one sock hanging from his fingers, ”You sure look the part, all packed up and ready to go without even so much as waking me up first.”

His anger doesn’t seem to bother Hanzo. In reality, he’s not very angry at all - just relieved. While he waits for an answer that he knows he’s not going to get, he keeps packing, and finally, everything he owns is back in that bag he’s been dragging all over the continent for years now.

”Ready to go?” Hanzo asks him; his dark eyes seem to twinkle with schadenfreude at the sight of Jesse’s struggles.

Jesse grunts as he plants his hat back on his head, at least somewhat certain that he's wearing _most_ of his clothes the right way around.

”Quite so,” he says.

 


End file.
